Chicken Chasing—don’t miss out!

I had a weak moment recently and that’s how I ended up with two hens in my backyard. A friend of mine was having a moving sale and I thought I’d check out her deals. I had already picked out a lamp, a rug, a table, and a sack of polyfil when I passed by a large wooden chicken coop with a price tag that was too hard to pass up. I could feel my heart beating like a drum inside my chest. There is something about chickens that just gets me excited, you know?

I have had chickens. I love chickens. I want more chickens. But I’m just not in a place right now where I need chickens, if that makes any sense at all. We’re living back in town and although it’s legal to have a few backyard hens, I’m not properly set up for them. Regardless, I had to have that chicken coop because one day I will have chickens again. If there’s anything that brings me joy, it’s chickens.

Before I could even tell her I wanted the coop, she said, “I’ll throw in 3 of my hens too.” She was moving after all and she wouldn’t be taking them with her.

My heart exploded at that moment, my mind raced all over. I knew better, I did.  I knew better than to agree to 3 chickens. My head was saying no, but my heart was screaming GIVE ME SOME CHICKENS!

And that’s how I ended up with 2 hens in my backyard. Yes, it was supposed to be three but the third one caught wind of the chicken nabbing during the evening abduction and gave us some fits.

I brought those birds home after dusk in a cardboard box and tucked them safely into their new coop. They did fine that night, but the next day they started squalling to beat the band. I went out to check on them because they were so noisy. I carefully lifted the lid of the coop to take just a little peek when the next thing I knew, there was a flap of wings, a flurry of feathers, a caterwauling of clucks and the birds were flying out of the lid, up over my head and were out of the coop and clucking like someone was about to wring their little necks. They clucked and squalled for hours until I knew I couldn’t keep these birds. The noise was bothering me, and I knew if the sweet sound of chickens were bothering me, it would only be a short time until the neighbors complained.

So I called my sister-in-law, who has a few of her own chickens and she agreed to come take them. She arrived with my 6th grade nephew and a plastic tote to gather the birds and carry them to their new home. Well, they weren’t having any of that. We were running around trying to capture them when the next thing we knew, there was a flap of wings, a flurry of feathers, a caterwauling of clucks and one of the birds was flying up over heads, up over the fence, and into the next door neighbor’s back yard—the home of 3 dogs.

I swear I was tempted to just count my losses here, but my nephew wouldn’t hear of it. We left my backyard and rang the door bell of the neighbor to explain our predicament. She graciously let us in her backyard to collect the flyaway. But as for the other one, we decided to let her roost for the night and I would try to capture her in her sleep. So my sister-in-law and nephew headed home to await the call that I had captured the chicken. That call never came. That night she hid under a pile of limbs we had cut down and didn’t even move when I poked her with a stick. I knew she had injured herself in the fray and had crawled under there to die. My plan was to wait until morning and drag her dead body out and dispose of it.

The next morning, sure enough, she was out running around the backyard with our dogs Grace and Ozzie, and she had left me an egg under the limbs. Ah, I thought, what a good little chicken, and this one wasn’t near as noisy as the one sent off.  I was already getting attached.  I tended it that day as best as I could; feeding it watermelon and trying to trick it to go back into the coop. Hopefully it would roost back in the coop and that night I was going to capture it while it slept.

That night, it was nowhere to be found. A white chicken shouldn’t be too hard to spot in the dark, but even with a flashlight, I couldn’t find it anywhere. Not under the limbs, not in the coop, not in the trees, not in hidey holes. Well, I figured I’d just count my losses. She’d probably flown over the fence and was dog food by now. I went to bed.

The next day, there she was running around the backyard with Grace and Ozzie again. Okay, you little houdini, tonight you are out of here! I will not be outsmarted by a chicken!

I watched her all day, I watched her like a hawk. I tracked her every move. I fed her watermelon and tried to trick her into going back in the coop. I talked sweetly to her. All she did was run the other direction. That night I was planning to grabbing her up. Dusk rolled in. I went out for the capture. She was gone again.  Holy macaroni! Now I was starting to get mad. I looked up to the heavens to curse and that’s when I saw her. Up, up, up–way up—in a tree high above my 5’2″ reach, even on my tippy toes.

To heck with it. We’ll just live like this, I conceded. I’d only gotten one egg in 3 days and she wasn’t worth the trouble anymore! It wasn’t 30 minutes later, my sister-in-law and nephew rolled up. They were in the neighborhood doing a little business.  I sent him back there to see if he could get that bird. I was standing in the front yard chatting with Janene when the next thing we knew, there was a flap of wings, a flurry of feathers, a caterwauling of clucks and here she came, up over the fence and landed in the front yard with us.

And that’s when the chicken chase began.

It is one thing to try to catch a chicken in a confined space like a backyard, but let me tell you, it is altogether another thing to try to catch a chicken within a half mile radius.  I can’t be done, folks. Wanna guess how I know???

It began with my nephew Harley trailing her down the street. It was hysterical and I ran inside to get my phone to video it. That’s when she ran down the alley. I knew by the way he was yelling “Call in the reinforcements. Call animal control!” that he clearly needed my help. I grabbed a box and began the chase down the alley. We headed her off this way and that. She was back on the side street, then back up our street, then across the road, then under the bushes of many different homes, then back on our street, then up to the next street. At this point SIL Janene and little EK had joined in the chase. It was Harley in the lead, then me, then EK carrying my phone, then Janene in the rear doubled over laughing with a box in her hand. I’m pretty sure a few extra people got a good giggle as they walked and drove by as well.

We clearly were not going to be able to catch the chicken in an all out run, so I ran to the house and grabbed a couple of blankets.  We were going to try to throw them over her head and tackle her. Throw. Miss. Run. Throw. Miss. Run. That plan failed too. Our next plan was to corner her, surround her and hope for the best.

Darting here, darting there, she zigged, she zagged, she burrowed under plants. I think I even heard her say *beepbeep* when she ran past us a time or two. Finally, I don’t know what happened. But by pure luck or chance, we chased that girl right into our garage. I shut the door and she at least was in a confined space again. It didn’t take long. We squeezed ourselves around the vehicles, bicycles, lawn mowers. Harley got down on his belly and dragged her out, and stuck her in a box. We were tired and we were dripping sweat.

Good bye and good riddance. But honestly? I had more fun chasing that chicken than I’d had in months! Despite the frustration and challenge, I laughed and laughed.

The next day I was sore. Seriously sore. My inner thighs burned, my calves burned. It was a workout, y’all.  As I rubbed my sore muscles, that’s when I got the greatest idea of my life.

Chicken chasing—the next greatest and bestest fitness plan out there.  The benefits are practically endless!
*Burn calories
*Tone muscles
*Increase your heart rate
*Enjoy the great open spaces
*Raise endorphins from hysterical laughter while you and your friends chase chickens

Step aside Tony Little. Move over TaeBo and Salsa dancing. I’ve got a cardio workout for you. It’s going to be a sensation! I just have to find someone to sell this idea to.

The next time you can’t sleep and you’re flipping through late night channels, don’t be surprised if  you see me on an Infomercial promoting my workout plan.
And that’s not all! Because you are one of my faithful blog readers, I’ve got a deal for you!

If you want to be an early bird (get it? early bird?) and not wait for the infomercial, you can go ahead and send me 4 installments of only $29.99 each and reap the benefits today! Don’t wait!!! I know where I can find a chicken to chase!

 

 

 

9 lives-1 life= a heart attack

Today I had a heart attack. It’s only an expression; thank goodness I did not have a literal heart attack. If you’re old enough to remember Sanford and Son you’ll know what I mean when I say  I thought it was “the big one”. My heart was beating so fast and fear had me in its claws so deep that I thought my heart was going to beat plumb out of my chest.

Before I began my tale, I should say this blog post needs to be filed in the “things I find under my hood” category—if only I had such a category. After today, I’m beginning to think I might need to create such a category. Usually the things found under a hood are mechanical in nature and not really worth talking about. Unless you’re me of course. Previously you might remember when I found the Rat Bastard and his nest under my hood with all his special possessions he’d hauled under there. Who knew I’d have 2 of these blog posts in as little as 3 months?!??? Well let’s get on with it, shall we?

About mid morning, I left our house with EK in tow in the back seat. She wanted to visit her Grandy across town.  We were driving along, eating gummy worms, talking about colors that match the seasons and looking for budding fruit trees. Our car was filled with smacking and conversation so I don’t know how long the noise had been happening before I actually heard it. By the time it reached my ears, it was of such magnitude and intensity it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It wasn’t the clankety clank of saddle straps being flapped around put there by a dirty Rat Bastard, but rather it was an ear splitting screech. A SCRAWWWWWLLLLLL. The screams of a mountain lion couldn’t compare to the noise. The sound of a woman being murdered in the woods couldn’t compare.

“What is that noise?” I asked out loud. EK quietened her incessant chatter just a beat or two for us to tune our ears. The sound was so loud. It was terrifying. It was obviously an animal in much distress. Not just any animal but a cat. As loud as it was, it was still a far off muffled sound of pain and agony. But it made no sense to me. Why would I be hearing a cat in distress while driving 30 mph down Duncan street? Then the realization hit me.

It was under the hood. There was a cat under my hood. I had driven at least 7 blocks with a cat under my hood. In the  2.78957856748 seconds it took me to pull over and put the car in park, my mind was a racing mess of scenarios. I popped the hood and stepped out of the car. The screech and the scrawl and the screams were so intensely crazy I was struck with a fear of what I was going to discover. I moved as quickly as I could, but of course when you are in the throes of panic and rushing to rescue something that needs rescuing, it seems to take forever. I put my hand under the hood, desperately searching for the latch that releases the hood. From the left to the right more to the left more to the right.  The whole while fearful of what I am about to discover. Will this by my cat Rocky Muffin? Is this a neighborhood cat? The cat obviously was still alive but in what kind of condition? Will it be mangled? Will it be limbless? Will there be blood spattered all over the roof of the hood of my yellow vehicle? Was I going to be able to stomach what I was about to discover?

I’m not mechanically minded a bit, but I’ve heard the stories of people who get caught up in tractors and lose their legs or those awful stories of kittens that spin around in the motors for a few seconds before there’s a thump and a wump and that’s the end of them.  Let’s just say, I was expecting nothing less.

My heart raced for forever, but I finally managed to find the hood release. I opened the hood to find, yes indeed, my very own Rocky Muffin squeezed between the hood and the black tubes and tangles of the underneath of the hood. Her fur was matted and wet on her back. I reached for her and she began to calm some. I took hold and pulled but couldn’t pull her out. Her foot seemed stuck in something, but after careful observation and a little more tugging, she had just deeply imbedded her claws into something holding on for dear life I assume. If I spring a leak later I’ll know she got a good puncture in some hose or some sort. She had all four limbs and a tail in tact, and the wet fur on her back must’ve been from the sweat and fear that had soaked through her skin. I’m sure I looked a bit odd to the passersby pulling a black cat out from under my hood. One truck began to slow, I’m uncertain as to why. Maybe to help out a damsel in distress or maybe to take a second look to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

I put RM in the car and she quietened down, hid under the seat, and rode to Grandy’s house in relieved silence. After depositing EK, I got RM back home where she received special treatment after such a traumatizing experience. She curled up on the bed and bathed and licked every bit of axle grease that may have touched her until she is a fine black sheen again. My teenage niece doesn’t even take baths as long as this cat bathed herself. I guess she found herself deserving of quite the pampering.

I’m not sure how many of her lives Rocky Muffin has squandered thus far, but today she certainly used up one of her nine.

And took a few years of my own along with it! Whew, isn’t life a fun adventure?

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